


On a Different Course

by Hotalando



Category: One Piece
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, M/M, Minor Character Death, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 10:38:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13293051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotalando/pseuds/Hotalando
Summary: After losing the only home he had ever had, Sanji couldn't cope with the loss and injustice of the world. Caught in a downward spiral of frustration, sorrow and despair, only the help of another person can save his life. But who would that be?Revolves around the idea of what would've happened if Luffy had set out to sea on a different day.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> It's a very dark approach to the idea of what could have been had Luffy left for his dream one or two days too late and hadn't been born under a lucky star. It's based on canon events but I twisted and corrupted them in order to fit with the idea. Actually tough to write so updating will only be twice a month. And I would really, really appreciate some feedback!

## Prologue

The sound of heavy boots pressing down on the planks next to him snap him back to reality. His senses are right back on the scene, so are his feelings that by the moment of faint have been tuned out. In sheer terror he watches the bulky man walk past him, his weight making the old wood creak in a shrill tone as if it means to cry. It's clear to him as the blue sky above him what was going to happen—the worst of all things he has ever imagined. 

"No," he breathes, struggling to stand up on his shaky feet, "No–" his voice grows louder, desperation shuddering his body like an earthquake,"Stop! You can't– you can't do this!" 

The other man turns with irritation in his eyes, then smirks evilly at him, "You think I can't? Watch me. And I advise you to do it closely." He halts in front of the lying figure a few feet away, already so drained off of life. His hand rises, holding a gun, and points it at the man's heart. "Thanks for your hospitality but you're not needed anymore." 

"NO!" He sets a foot towards the man, towards that old man who resembles a home to him, who is the closest thing to a father he has ever had. As he steps forward, strong arms violently pull him back, holding him on his spot—too far away to help, too close to watch the nightmare. Something connects with his back, hitting his previously ripped open side and nearly knocks the lights out of him again. 

"STOP IT PLEASE! YOU CAN'T– STOP–" 

The click of the gun makes his cries all the more hysterical, he screams at the top of his lungs to that anthropomorphized devil. He has to stop this, he has to end this before they– no, he has to help! With all the strength he's got left, he fights to break out of the men's hold- he needs to break out– he needs to stop this– he needs to kill that man before he kills his old man– he has t–

The loud bang of the pistol draws the breath out of his lungs. Everything seems to have slowed down, quieted down by the deafening sound of the gun. He stares wide-eyed, in shock and disbelief, no no no this is not real! this didn't happen! he will wake up any minute! 

But the repeating shots at the already dead man's heart, the not ending acoustic shock murders all his hopes of dreaming a terrible nightmare. It's all real, it's all over. And he keeps on crying out, demanding the cruel man to stop, demanding the world to turn back…  



	2. Ⅰ

## ⸻1⸻

He breaks out of his memory with a strangled sob. It's just a memory, he immediately reminds himself, nothing more than his mind replaying that awful day in his sleep again. He is far away now, far away from that place and time, he is safe right here. His gaze wanders over the deserted city stretching to the horizon, so big yet so dead, and allows his lungs a deep drag of the dry air. It makes him cough and his throat more sore but there isn't much he could do about it.

Even moments later, he finds himself shuddering. Last night is still haunting him, the harsh coldness of the wind crawled under his skin to stay for good. But neither the bright and hot sun mercilessly but also soothingly shining down on him nor the thick layers of clothes and blankets can stop his body from trembling. He's shaking from the impact of his feelings, the pain of his past, the memory of the day that has turned his whole life upside down. How he wants to cry, let his emotions loose but no tear leaves his dry eyes ever. 

Will this be his last station? Will his life end here, lonely on top of a city abandoned by its people? Will this city be his grave? He has nothing left to live for, he can never move on, he can never go back, he has no home to return to! 

So he decides to await death with arms wide open. Hopefully, soon.


	3. Ⅱ

## ⸻2⸻

A harsh wind swirls through the dry air, brushing some sand off the old road. With caution, like a hunter approaching their prey, he follows the curving of the main street towards his destination. It’s set in the empty heart of the abandoned city, an old building that’s still reaching high to touch the sky above. Hence, he has been figuring on his way here, it made a perfect hiding spot from even the most desperate of animals. This desert, with its cities and towns, has been abandoned ages ago, left to die and fade away eventually. What wonderful place to not be found in, right?

The road turns sharply to the left leading to the former town’s square. What once used to be a vivid and cheerful place for the townsfolk to meet has turned into a wasteland. Sand is everywhere; thick blankets of the beige powder are covering every inch of the ground. He strides closer to the center and a broken fountain, buried underneath the sand and robbed off its purpose. His gaze wanders over the square, searching for a split between the buildings that would lead him further. There’s no time to linger and watch a strange town fading away, he has a mission to accomplish.

Across from him a small arch introduces a passage that he enters without hesitation. The piles of gravel grow smaller the deeper he steps into the neighbourhood, he finds himself at crossroads over and over again with large buildings rising up into the sky and almost hovering over the empty streets. He stops at a corner after felt minutes and reconsiders his plans. His eyes look up to the roof of the building to his left—fortunately not as tall as the others—then scans the thick mud brick walls for anything to climb up on. From up there he would have a better view over the city and also the roofs which he needs to explore anyway. In this labyrinth of passages and roads, he will never find what he is searching for, let alone the exit out of this city.

Two blocks later he finds a makeshift ladder constructed at the side of a large building. It goes all the way up to the roof and thanks to the tiny spaces between the houses, he would be able to jump from building to building and easily find _the one_. Within a minute he’s up on top of the city, gazing into the sun hanging over the horizon. The air isn’t much better as down in the streets, and nothing like the clean and fresh air at his home. If things worked out—which they _will_ —he will be back by sunrise.

The winds are dancing around him, throwing grit into his face so he adjusts the hood of his sweater while scanning the roofs surrounding him. From here, his view is nearly infinite, if the sun wasn’t blinding him, it would even be perfect. He’s even able to see the still intact road leading into the city from here, the one he has taken on his journey earlier. So, he concludes his examination and turns towards the bright and hot sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS SO MUCH for all the kudos and hits and subscriptions!!!! I hope you all will like what's going to happen in the future of this fanfic. It's already planned out till the end ;) From next chapter on, there'll be interactions!
> 
>  **EDIT** For anyone interested, I have twitter account set up for updates on my fanfic and original story projects as well as other stuff like One Piece in general: it's @Hotakun_writes


	4. Ⅲ

## ⸻3⸻

Neither the sun or his weakened, dehydrated body allow him to die, no matter how long he waits, no matter how longingly he awaits. There is no mercy in this world left for him—all he’s ever deserved is suffering. It’s so true; he doesn’t find the reasons to argue, he doesn’t find the strength within him to fight against his own demons. To every person in whose life he has stepped, he brought death and misery, he’s never in all his life gifted someone with happiness nor luck. Why is he even still alive, why isn’t he dead instead of them? _Why?_

Sleepily he nuzzles his face into his arm, neither willing nor able to rise his head to the sky. He can’t put up with this world anymore, he will never have the power to fix the lives he’s ruined, the hearts he’s broken—he will never be able to go back home! And he’s tired of it, exhausted of running away, drained from his emotions controlling his actions. The end—why isn’t it here yet? If there was anything, _anything_ he truly wishes for, it was dying right here, right now. Alone in some city no one will ever remember, he wouldn’t be a burden anymore, he wouldn’t cause any trouble anymore, he would be removed from this world like a pleat from a cloth, leaving it so much more _flawless_.

Not even the quiet sound of boots approaching bothers him into motion. He doesn’t care to turn his head, whatever will happen now, he wouldn’t be able to fight it anyway. Is this noise even real? Maybe he’s hallucinating, that happens to people in a miserable state as him, he guesses. And he won’t give into his stupid mind—not anymore. 

“What a strange but predictable place to hide in.” A deep voice sounds from behind him, carrying amusement inside. 

As alarmed as he can be, he turns towards the direction of the other person (or illusion?). Covered in dark garment, a hood pulled over bright greenish hair and equipped with different sorts of weaponry stands another man before him, seemingly so real yet _too alive_. His eyes lazily examine his face, those somehow familiar features—where has he seen him before?  
If he came to get him for the government, he will not put up a fight anymore. He isn’t even allowed to choose his way of dying, so he shouldn’t ignore this opportunity. Forming his thoughts into a proper phrase, he opens his mouth to breathe in, to release the words but no sound leaves his throat. Too dry, for too long not in use; his voice died before him.

The chuckle on the other man’s face fades into a small frown at the weak reaction. He expected him to be unarmed, maybe even tired and hungry but not this worn out. This man’s at the verge of death, not only physically but even mentally. A ghost of himself. The journey ahead of them will be unexpectedly troublesome. 

Tearing the can of water from his belt, he closes the distance between them and kneels down before him. No reaction, not even a blink when he brushes the greasy strands of blonde hair out of his face. No fight when he opens those dry, pale lips further to help him drink. The motion of his blue eyes are the only sign of life in this moment, the rising and falling of his ribcage barely visible. 

“Careful,” he smiles faintly when the blonde man chokes on the second gulp, “No hurry, I’ve got plenty of time now.” He settles down next to him, eyes fixed on this lifeless face to not miss a change. The whole mission would be blown up if he died thus he can’t have that happen. 

After a while and an empty water can, the blonde man finally tries to speak again, his voice nothing more than a thin whisper. “You… here… to get… me.” A fit of coughs interrupts him abruptly and he fails to speak up again.

“Yeah, I’m a bounty hunter,” the green-haired man answers, “I was instructed to find you and bring you back. Pretty high bounty you got for a newcomer with no criminal background nor a group he belongs to.” 

The blond turns his head away. His hopes of not ever having to face his past and just die, simply rot away on this fucking roof are finally dead. _How ironic_. 

“Anyways, I’m here to get you back _alive_ , so you’ll have to stay with me until you’re out of danger,” the bounty hunter adds nonchalantly. He can’t complain about this anyway, he practically signed up for this without once thinking it through. Not that he really minds to have company, especially his, there’s just the risk of the idiot not making it. That would ruin _all_ of his plans. And so many other’s, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update so I won't forget it later. And I hope it's okay to leave for a hiatus with this chapter ;)  
> Thanks so so sooo much for all the subscriptions and kudos!!!


	5. Ⅳ

## ⸻4⸻

The sun has already vanished from the horizon when he awakes later, piercingly cold wind claws at the little space of his face that isn’t hidden under fabric. He shifts closer to the soft and warm object in front of him in order to soak up as much warmth as possible. It feels so wrong, yet so needed to experience this comfort, to feel something other than exhaustion and cold. Although he knows he doesn’t deserve it—he shouldn’t enjoy it as much, he isn’t allowed to feel better than miserable. But how could he deny this? Disregarding the fact that he’s tied to and snuggled up against the man’s body who’ll make him pay for his sins. He can’t hate him for it, he’s only doing his job for money he probably needs to survive—who is he to hate someone who only wants to live?

There’s a change of pace in their movement and the motorbike speeds faster towards the horizon as they’re driving along the only intact road, still connecting the abandoned city to the shore. The night’s cold and dark, making the desert seem so endless, as if there was no way to escape its cruelty. All the more stranger it is to feel warm inside the ice cold desert, to have a little bit of hope still flaring up inside. Maybe he would see the sea once more before his death, maybe he would feel it brushing over his skin only once more before he would leave this world for good. It doesn’t seem too impossible. The bounty hunter gave him water, wrapped him into a sweater and a leather vest and will allow him to rest later before his final journey. Though these acts of kindness have an inhuman reason, they’re the only kindness he’s experienced in months. 

He doesn’t mind dying in this very moment—leaned against a warm body driving through the night, he’s strangely feeling at peace like he hasn’t in a long, long while. Could it be the other man’s air? Or the presence of another human being at all, he hasn’t really touched another person in over a year. His only human contact in the last few months consisted of slitting throats or breaking necks, he has touched more blood than still living skin.

So maybe that’s why he’s feeling comfortable and calm enough to doze off again, the warmth and pleasing aura of another human being lulling him into a dreamless sleep.


	6. Ⅴ

## ⸻5⸻

Calloused fingers brushing over his forehead wake him up several hours later, completely jolting him awake. His eyes gaze up into the green-haired man’s brown ones, his hooded head shielding him from the bright sunlight. A small smile lingers in the corners of the bounty hunter’s mouth, is it relief? That his prey is still alive, hence his bounty is still a deal?

The moment fades away, leaving him alone face up to the blue sky. It’s day, the sun is back to fill the world with her light again. He stretches his fingers and feels sand under his tips, so much cooler than the one in the city, so much wetter than the powder the wind blows through the desert. A deep drag of air proves him right; the atmosphere is much cleaner and fresher, and there’s the scent of sea water that’s reviving his numb nostrils. They’re at the shore, he’s lying at the beach! He made it, finally one of his wishes has come true; he can die now, he can finally fade away from this world!

He closes his eyes with a smile and opens all his senses to enjoy the soft breeze caressing his cheeks, the air filling his ill lungs. The sea’s always taken happiness from him but it has also given it back to him, it knows his dreams and demons, his successes and his failures. But it has never turned away from him, not even now after all the cruel things he has done, he’s still allowed to lie at its side.

“...Sanji! Hey!” a voice calls out to him, the light is replaced by a shadow hovering over his face again. “Don’t fucking die on me.”

Slowly he opens his eyes again to see the slightly worried face of his companion blocking his view at the sun. Not able to reply, he simply shakes his head, no, I’m not dying, the smile still lying on his lips. He knows my name, it sounds so good to hear it again, to be someone again, if only for minor reasons. 

“Good. We’re almost there, just a few more hours.” The other man straightens up again and disappears out of his eyesight, his voice sounding farther away, “And don’t even think about giving up, I’m not letting you fuckup die.” 

He doesn’t mind, as if he could ever let himself die; nothing he’s tried so far had worked. He’s damned to suffer in this world for eternity as punishment for his mistakes and his existence altogether. The least he can do is stay at the other man’s side so he could have the bounty he deserves for his efforts of tracking him down. At least he will leave this world making someone else happy, isn’t that a beautiful reason to die for?

Before he could fall asleep again, Sanji is lifted off the ground and carried over towards a small boat, already packed with their luggage. Lazily he allows his body to rest against the larger man’s chest, leans his head on his shoulder and closes his eyes once more, ignoring how weak and unmanly his actions are. The other man doesn’t seem to mind at all, so why bother? As if he needs to maintain some kind of reputation, as if he needs to impress someone anymore. No one cares about him but for his death, so it doesn’t matter if he simply let go and gave into his childish needs. 

Carefully he’s laid into a makeshift bed out of bags and clothes, leaned against the motorbike as the headrest. He wonders if the bounty hunter is a little too considerate, he doesn’t need to do much to keep him alive, why is he doing so much more? The harder he thinks about it, the sleepier he becomes so he brushes it off; he wants to stay awake and watch the world changing around them. 

The green-haired man sits down opposite of Sanji, grabs the pedals and sets them into hooks on each side of the boat. His facial expression is rather hard, concentration clearly readable on his features as he’s rummaging in the pockets of his thin black vest. The sweater is missing, as Sanji notices now, and realizes that the clothes he’s been given aren’t spare clothes but the only ones the other man has with him. What is all of this about? Why would anyone take so much care of someone they would kill (or let be killed) eventually anyway? 

“Here, hold that. Don’t break it or I’ll break something of you,” he simply said and pressed an object into the blond’s hands, that latter identifies as an eternal pose. 

_Paraiso_ , it says on the golden sign nailed to the top of the log pose. Dirt is covering most of the globe in the center, one of the small pillars is damaged and threatens to break apart. It must be in use for quite a while and not being taken care of like one would do with a valuable object as this special compass. Wherever it’s leading them to, Sanji has never heard of an island with that name. It can’t belong to the navy or the world government, in that case he knew the name for sure. Then, where are they going? The other man’s home? His hideout? Coming to think of it, he doesn’t know anything about him, is he really a bounty hunter? For all he knows, he could be a maniac, a crazy killer or belong to a satanic cult. Well, would that change anything? 

“Stop racking your brain about it, you’ll only hurt yourself,” he interrupts his thoughts without the tiniest of emotions on his features.

Is he mocking him?! In a moment like this? Provoked by these words, Sanji kicks him in the side instead of verbally fighting back. He’s barely strong enough to rise his leg so it results into him nudging the other man’s hip. How embarrassing. If he wasn’t so weak, he would kick his ass back to the desert for that stupid remark! 

“Aw, don’t worry, I won’t pull your hair for brushing your shoe off on my shirt,” the bounty hunter cooes mockingly, “I’m not the pansy type.” 

_Yeah, I figured_ , Sanji wants to say but instead sighs in frustration. Any attempt of speaking still ends with coughing and although he’s feeling a little better now, he doesn’t bother to put any effort into trying anymore. His spirits aren’t back yet, if they would ever, is there a reason for him to regain them anyway? So close to his personal end, why should he come back to life one step from his death?

The clouds start moving as the boat is pushed through the small waves. Sanji gazes up into the sky, wishing it was the sea instead but he’s too far from touching it. How ironic, so close, yet unable to touch. Like so many things in his life, situations in which he has been close but too far away to help. Again, another proof of his fate. 

Waves splash against the sides of the boat, the hunter’s arms rowing them towards the horizon in a quick and efficient pace. A cool breeze brushes over Sanji’s face and steal away the last bits of smile from his lips. Emotions cost too much strength he doesn’t have, and that he will never have again, that he never wants to have again. And so he allows himself to sink into the movements of the waves, rocking the boat gently, carefully, and closes his eyes once more. 

A drop of water awakes him a second later, cool and wet, it rolls down his nose and leaves a long missed sensation tingling his skin. When he opens his eyes, he finds the other man leaned over him, face decorated with a soft frown and a cloth in his hand. It’s dripping wet, smelling of sea water and freshness and reminding Sanji once more of the dryness of his body. He’s craving water, he’s craving the sensation of the liquid, he wasn’t born for aridity! Following the urge, he tries to shift, to move closer, to touch but not a single muscle in his body reacts. He’s immobilised, paralysed from the waterlessness, from the days and nights of living lonesome in the wastelands. A faint panic rises inside of him, he tries to force his motionless body to move but he can’t! he can’t reach up! He is stuck in a body that’s already dying, probably already at death’s door. 

It’s the other man’s voice that extinguishes the panic and soothes his senses. “Nah, nah, calm down,” he frowns gently and lowers the wet cloth towards Sanji’s face. His forehead connects first with the soaked fabric, cool shivers rush through his body as the liquid breaks open his dried skin and few droplets roll down his face. A strangled sob escapes the blond’s throat as his emotions are freed off of the dust from months of no proper use. 

The bounty hunter brushes over the other man’s face, cleans it carefully to remove the sand and dirt of the desert. He stopped rowing for a break as the sea was calm, they are now far from the shore and possible sighters. They’re still a few hours away from their destination and with the risk of the blond dying any second, it could even take longer. But taking care of him, keeping his will of not fading away alive, that is important if this mission should succeed. It has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Paraiso means Paradise. I had Paradise as name first back when I started writing this fanfic years ago but recently found out that there's already an island in the One Piece-verse named Paradise and even if it's a minor plot relation, I felt better changing it.  
> Also: Thanks for reading this fanfic! Thanks so much for the kudos!


	7. Ⅵ

## ⸻6⸻

Far too soon, they reached land. This foreign place that is supposed to terminate his journey in every way, Sanji cannot fight the rising feeling of plaintiveness. It’s only faint, a pale emotion filling his hollow self, but with the only one inside him, it feels all the more intense. Isn’t he supposed to suffer? Now at the end, he must feel to fulfill the conditions of his punishment. 

The boat is roughly shoved onto the sandy shore, each and every unevenness Sanji notices, less smoothly than the waves of the ocean. He can’t see the other man for a while, and his ears are taunted by the sounds of the unknown land they arrived at. Rustling like the wind through rich treetops, twittered melodies echoing and sounding exotically—what is there ahead of them? What sounds so vividly, what smells so fresh, so different from what they left behind? 

Forcing his curiosity into his limbs, Sanji tries hard to prop himself up into a sitting position. During the travel on the water, the bounty hunter almost defeated his terrible thirst and so his body now feels slightly better, its reactions matching his demands. Carefully, Sanji leans against the side of the boat, still too weak to hold himself up without support. There’s no trace of the bounty hunter but what he sees instead is more than he could dream about.

Merely three feet in front of him is rooted deeply into the soil the entrance to a jungle so wide it surpasses his imagination. A jungle! Assumed he isn’t imagining—he could still be sitting atop that darn building in the blazing hot desert sun so close to his desired death! He likes this idea, doesn’t he? And as his death wish unfolds within him another time, he feels his spirit falter again, and his eyes close to hide the view he isn’t allowed to enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter update but I'm picking up the every-other-weekend-positing schedule again!


	8. Ⅶ

## ⸻7⸻

Not a believer in luck, it is all thanks to their good planning that the blond man survived to this point. But the bounty hunter likes to believe that there’s little willpower left inside the other man—no matter how dark its source might be.

When he finds the blond sat up and leaned against the boat, Zoro is unable to force the wave of relief rushing up inside him. The noises and scents of the jungle must’ve lured him, he supposes, what a typical reaction—the so-called monster is not as abnormal as society might think. As labelled monster himself, he relates to the criminal quite a lot.

If the other man could sit up, he might walk on his own, Zoro wonders and thinks through possible alternatives. There’s a long path ahead of them to reach the secured core of the jungle framed by dangerous plants and pitfalls. However this is his current home and the jungle is accustomed to him, it might react negatively towards the other man. Was it easier—all of his honour and pride shoved aside—to carry the blond? After all, every pitfall and taunt is designed to never catch him but anyone else who dared to intrude this island. Not that anyone has ever bothered to.

Zoro is probably the last to decide on the condition of his companion and so he pushes his luck, “Hey, you think you can walk?”

Startled at being addressed at, Sanji turns to look at him in confusion but once caught onto the subject, he hastily answers, “Yes, I can...” and tries to support his words by a weak attempt at rising up. His fingernails dig into the boat’s planks as his grip is painfully strong to keep a hint of balance—but when his knees buckle and he slumps right down, they both know he wouldn’t make it on his own.

And the frustration laying itself onto Sanji’s face like the shadow of an eclipse creates another impression of the human that still inhabits the wanted man. Despite the tribulations of the past months tainting his mind, the blond man seems surprised, irritated and a little shocked at his limited physical capabilities. For a split of a second Zoro believes to look into the face of a young boy at the verge of fright: _Why can’t I get up?_

“Gotta carry you then,” Zoro concludes and turns back to the makeshift cover for his boat to be hidden under. They would both be in trouble if it disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)


	9. Ⅷ

## ⸻8⸻

The jungle is a different world, so lush and vivid, almost too interesting that Sanji ignores his own immobility. He can see birds high up in the trees but hears their singing so much closer and echoing off his soul. All of the impressions request his attention and he can’t help but looking around every step the bounty hunter does.

Sanji doesn’t mind the support as much as the reason for it. His bad shape must be a bother to the other man, it is a bother to himself—being a burden to someone is the last thing he ever wants to be again. And yet he is, now sitting on the broader built man’s back and carried through the jungle to somewhere. Will he always stay a burden to the world? To the unknown bounty hunter who takes so much care of him? Is this really the end of him?

While the noisiness of the jungle is rustling around them, Sanji feels the silence between them awkwardly weighing him down. It tastes sour on his tongue but what should he say? Converse with the other man, a little smalltalk as if he wasn’t going to sell him off to the World Government? There are questions rising up inside of him, their reach not very wide but he feels them nudging him. Maybe it is his spirits awakening him but he cannot fight them off. 

After a dry harrumph, Sanji tries his luck, “What’s your name?”

He senses the other man chuckling. “That’s late.” A pause cuts in as the green-haired man escapes a greedy plant. “Roronoa Zoro. Official bounty hunter for the Navy. They’re not my favourite boss, though.”

Sanji is very surprised by the casualness of the answer and mostly the willingness to give one in the first place. When has been the last time someone opened up to him? “Not your favourite one? You have more?”

“Yeah, like the one who told me to find you,” Zoro replies with a little more pride in his voice. 

A frown shapes Sanji’s face. Not the Navy sent this man to catch him? But who else would be interested in his death? Or in him at all? Who could this person be that obviously excited the bounty hunter and made him feel proud of being commissioned by them? Some shadowy underground organisation? Or is it just a lie?

“I’ll fill you in on our plan when we get to the cottage. It’s safe for us to talk in this jungle ‘cause the animals and plants keep intruders out—’cept me and my boss,” Zoro adds and jumps out of another plant’s reach, “They don’t know you that’s why they’re attacking. But that’ll change.”

Sanji hopes so as a large flower lifts its buds up to shoot drops of green liquid at them.


	10. Ⅸ

## ⸻9⸻

Clean and unhurt they arrive at the clearing that offers ground to the cottage Zoro mentioned. It’s a natural clearing only extended at its rims by human hands to widen the space. In its womb sits a little house made out of woods and whatever materials found to patch up damages. It seems barely large enough for one person however that depends on one’s preferred lifestyle.

Boxes and rusty scooters, a torn down fence and what looks like a bathtub surround the front of the cottage, partially shielded by plants that stubbornly stand their ground. Some of the bushes and smaller trees Sanji recognises from books—they carry edible fruits and leaves, some of them aren’t even home to the jungle.

He is carried to the front door that gives into the kick of the bounty hunter and lets them enter. It is dark inside, oxygen has a tough time with all the dust that floats through the air. How long has he been away? Sanji wonders, for how long has he been tracking him down? A long, thoroughly organised plan?

Through the darkness Zoro crosses the room to sit him on a hard surface, to leave his side right after and starts to open all windows to let the sun lighten up the interior. Once the rays reached even the most hidden corner, Sanji finds himself in a room quite larger than in his expectations. And definitely better equipped than its first impression suggested.

Designed minimalistically though, there’s quite some lifestyle presented for a person as Zoro. Within this one simple-shaped room stand an oven with a stove, two counters and cupboards, a sink completed by a table to eat at—and sit on, as Sanji figures out himself—and across from the kitchen area there is a worn-down couch with a coffee table, a bookshelf, several cardboard boxes sitting at the walls and a hammock in a windowless corner. Not a life of luxury but more than Sanji would expect from a bounty hunter’s hideout.

“I need to head back—there’s some canned food… somewhere and water should come from the faucet. If not, there’s a tank outside. You can use the hammock for a nap,” Zoro rambles while pacing around to store away what luggage he was able to carry along with Sanji. 

“Toilet?” Sanji hears himself ask without a second thought, it seemed like a logical question. 

The bounty hunter halts in his tracks to look at him in disbelief, one eyebrow twitching up to sublime his reaction. “Does this look like a hotel to you?” 

“No, I just… You seem well-equipped with a stove and stuff, so I just thought…”

“I’m not the pansy type, you know, but if the bushes outside are _too wild_ for you, take one of the buckets,” Zoro mocks and walks over to the open door with a very amused grin on his features. “I’ll be right back, _please_ don’t make a mess. I don’t care where you shit as long as you take it outside.” 

Again, Sanji can’t wrap his mind around the sarcasm and mockery the bounty hunter seems to enjoy so much—it seems so casual, almost _friendly_ , as if their circumstances of meeting weren’t as corrupt and shadowy as they are. As if they were acquaintances introduced to each other by mutual friend. And while the green-haired idiot seemed to be entertained by the stupidity of his question, Sanji grows more and more annoyed by him—but in a surprisingly positive way. “I’m well-mannered and not a caveman like you.”

“I’m not a caveman, I live in a cottage. See you later,” Zoro grins at him triumphantly and leaves before the other man could counter. 

“Jerk,” Sanji grunts but despite feeling provoked, he can’t fight the smile shaping the corners of his lips once the bounty hunter is out of sight. No matter how insensitive, mean and rude the other man’s treatment is, it still makes him feel as if he was a just another person. This little bit of bickering, it gives him the impression of being human, if only for a short while. 

Far stranger is the feeling that settles into his chest almost instantly: He craves the man’s presence. Attached to him is the idea of still having the worth to be alive, the hint of a reason to seek at least contentment, to find a way back into life. How powerful this trait must be that the bounty hunter carries with him, to even be able to revive Sanji’s spirits at least a little in such short time—or is it just Sanji’s childish simpleheartedness that has ever been slumbering inside of him? Is this last piece of his true self so damaged, so hurt by everything it has been through, that it is caught onto a stranger’s meaningless friendliness so quickly? 

Maybe this is nothing but a trap—and he has willingly taken the bait. Maybe he is already lost inside the trap, seduced by the bait and unable to escape. _Would it matter?_


End file.
